


Between Shadow And Soul

by EffingEden



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Community: hannibalkink, Gen, Necromancy, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has claimed Will, but Hannibal will not let him go. </p>
<p>Necromancer!Hannibal and zombie!Will</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Shadow And Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Minifill for anon on hannibalkink; http://apiphile.tumblr.com/post/52374652352/hannibalcrackers-i-need-you-to-smile
> 
> "contrary to appearances this is not a show about a zombie learning to love again"
> 
> but what if it was?

It wasn’t like he expected, being dead. 

No light to follow, no warmth, no familiar faces. It was almost a disappointment, really - except for the peace. If it were a sound, it would be the deepest throbbing bass that was felt as a shudder in the bone marrow. If it were a texture, it would be ocean ice polished to perfect smoothness. If it were a taste, it would be toasted rye bread and store brand coffee. If it were visible, it would be the night sky constructed with fog and lamplights. It was all and none of these. It was utter and endless. Through it, he fell. In it, he was buried. He filled it, and it filled him. There was no room for dreams, nor thought, memory nor desire. 

The illusion of time had no grasp here. He hadn’t the means, will, or wit to try to measure it in any case. 

Here, he was finally able to rest. 

Until...

“Will. I need you to open your eyes.”

Discordance. Blood and bile. Cracks. Light - a blur that meant nothing but the end of that peace he had earned - 

_Not this,_ came and went a desperate whisper of thought. Nothing more coherent followed, just a wash of weariness that sucked it his bones, gnawing at him with with copper teeth. Hunger crept in after that, hollow and sharp. Pain licked fondly at his temples and throat and hands - these parts he had forgotten about, reintroduced with calling cards of cramps and the tingle-bite of blood-deprived flesh slowly remembering it is more than meat. 

“That’s it, Will. You’re doing very good.”

That voice. That _voice_ that is soft and level. That’s where the peace is. In that voice. It crafted itself into something more, something less. He can feel it still inside him, under the eager-quick sensations that confuse him now. If he just listens - if he can just do what he’s told - then he might earn the peace again.


End file.
